The Lost Queen of Cair Paravel
by Sara Wolfe
Summary: Susan's story, from The Last Battle onward.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: **Words in _italic_ are Susan's thoughts.

**The Lost Queen **

**Prelude**

London had just entered the war when the Pevensie children's mother sent them away to live with Professor Kirke. It was there that they engaged in a game of hide and seek on a rainy afternoon. A game which led to Lucy's discovery of a world within a wardrobe. It was to that wardrobe that they fled, to escape punishment for a broken window. And they found the world within.

And Susan felt angry.

_Why did Lucy have to hide in that wardrobe, in the first place? Why'd she have to go and make friends with that faun? Why'd she have to drag us along with her?_

_Why couldn't we have stayed in the Professor's home?_

But, they ignored her feelings as they trekked through the woods. Woods where they found the faun's cave, and the letter of his arrest. Where they met the Beaver. Where they learned of Aslan. And where they discovered that Edmund had betrayed them to the White Witch.

And Susan felt scared.

_How could Edmund do this to us? We're his family. What if that Witch hurts him? What if she kills him? Will this Aslan be able to save him? Are any of us safe, here?_

_Why couldn't he have just stayed in the dam?_

They made the long journey across the frozen landscape, meeting enemies and friends, alike. And then they met Aslan. Who told them not to worry. Who promised to rescue Edmund, to restore their family.

And Susan began to hope.

_I feel I must trust Aslan, no matter what He says. If He says He can rescue Edmund, then He will. I can't wait to see my baby brother again, to hold him again. _

_Maybe we were right in coming here._

Aslan sent out a rescue party, and Edmund was brought back safely. Everyone was happy, but it was not to last. The Witch came and demanded a sacrifice, to appease her blood-price. And Aslan gave up his life.

And Susan despaired.

_Why is He doing this? Can't He fight that horrible Witch? How could she be so evil? Why isn't He doing anything?_

_What are we going to do without him?_

But Aslan came back to life, and took them to the Witch's castle, where they saved those she'd turned into stone. And they arrived at the battle in time for Aslan to defeat the Witch. And for Lucy to save Edmund's life with her healing cordial. And they were crowned Kings and Queens of Narnia.

And Susan was overjoyed.

_We've done it. The Witch is dead; she'll never bother anyone, ever again. Peter, Edmund, and Lucy are all safe--especially Edmund. The people of Narnia are rejoicing our coronation._

_I don't ever want to leave._

Years passed, and the young Kings and Queens grew into their titles, ruling with strength, valor, fairness, and kindness. They were beloved. Then one day, Peter reported that the White Stag had been seen near the Waste, and so a hunt party was arranged. And then they found themselves at a lamppost. And then Lucy was running down a path. And then they were in the Professor's house, again, the same age as when they'd left.

And Susan was upset.

_Why'd we have to go after that Stag? Why did Lucy have to run into the woods, and find that dratted lamppost? Why did we go into the wardrobe, again? I hardly remember this life, anymore._

_Why couldn't we have stayed in Narnia?_

But, time went on and the hurt eased. And then they found themselves at the train station, awaiting the train to take them home. Until they were pulled back into Narnia by Susan's magical horn.

And Susan was confused.

_This isn't the Narnia I know. Where are all our courtiers, our subjects? Where is Mr. Tumnus wanting to play chess with us? Where is Oreius coming to Peter and Edmund with news of the realm?_

_What has happened to the golden palace where we ruled?_

But she had no time to voice these confusions, as they were drawn into helping Caspian, who was the true King of Narnia. The boys drew up their battle plans. Peter defeated Miraz in honorable combat. Caspian was crowned King, by Aslan himself. And then Aslan told them they would no longer return.

And Susan cried.

_What have I done to deserve this; why have I been turned away from Narnia? Did I doubt you, was it that I didn't believe enough? Was it because I didn't believe Lucy, when she said she'd seen you? I don't understand._

_What can I do to come back?_

But her cries fell on deaf ears,and her tears dried up,and Narnia became merely a fond memory. And Susan went to America, to learn, and experience, and grow. And when she returned, she had become a worldly young woman, with grace and sophistication. But she never forgot the land where she was Queen.And Aslan's booming words always echoed in her mind, bringing unbearablesadness when she heard them.

And then Edmund and Lucy went to their cousin's, and returned with glorious tales of how they journeyed to the end of the world with Caspian. How they met dragons, and Lords, and Aslan, himself.

And Susan was jealous.

_Why did they get to go, again? Why does Aslan love them more than me? Why do they get what I can't have?_

_Why can't I go back?_

But jealousy served no one, so she never let them know of her feelings. It is, after all, the way of sophisticated young women. She merely told them how proud she was, and nursed her broken heart in solitude. Later, young men started asking for her, making her feel pretty and loved, like she had in Narnia. But thinking of Narnia was painful, so shetried not to. And Aslan's voice, telling her she could never return, became merely a whisper.

And so Susan forgot.

**A/N2: This was just how Susan could give up Narnia, and has no specific time. The next chapter will begin during The Last Battle, and will continue on from there. **

**Comments and suggestions are always welcome. **


	2. The Consequences of Growing Up

**Chapter One: The Consequences of Growing Up**

Dawn broke over London, and, as she had been far too many times that week, Susan was awake to witness it. Not that she actually saw the sunrise; she was far too busy, with her nose buried in one of her schoolbooks.

"And so, the trigeminal nerve controls the--you're up early," she said, to her roommate, as her train of thought was interrupted.

"I couldn't help it," Karen grumbled. "Someone woke me up."

"Was I too loud?" Susan asked, shamefaced. "I'm sorry. I'll be quieter if you want to go back to sleep."

"Have you been up all night?" Karen asked, instead.

"What time is it?" Susan asked.

"Nearly eight-thirty," Karen told her, grumpily.

"Then, yes, I've been up all night," Susan replied.

"If you keep going like this," Karen told her, "you're going to burn yourself out."

"I have to keep studying like this," Susan said, "if I want to keep up with the rest. It was hard enough getting accepted to University, with the way my grades from secondary school were. It's going to be even harder to prove that I deserve to be there just as much as they do. And harder still to get into medical school."

"Susan, you're only eighteen," Karen said. "You don't need to have your whole life mapped out in stone."

"You sound like the rest of my family," Susan grumbled. "I know what I want to do, and I'm doing it. Why is that such a bad thing?"

"Because you're letting life pass you by!" Karen exclaimed. "What happened to the girl who used to go to all those parties with me?"

"She grew up," Susan said.

And she had. Just as she had given up silly, childish games and imaginary worlds for parties and the attentionof young men, so she'd given up the parties for more mundane pursuits. She was an adult, after all, and being an adult meant making certain sacrifices and giving up pleasures.

"Now, if you don't mind," Susan said, crossly, when Karen continued to hover at her shoulder.

Returning her attention back to her books, Susan didn't notice Karen banging around the small apartment they shared. She didn't see the irritated looks directed her way, or hear the door slam when Karen left for the day. The only thing that grabbed her attention was the ringing phone.

Grabbing the phone, Susan glanced down at her watch.

_'I've been studying for over three hours!' _she realized. _'No wonder I'm so tired.'_

"Hello?" she asked.

"Su, I'm glad I caught you."

Susan smiled at the welcome sound of her brother's voice.

"Edmund, to what do I owe the honor of this call?" she asked, expecting to hear some mock-gallant response in kind, like he was prone to do.

"It's Narnia, Su," Edmund said, somberly. "We're needed."

"I don't have time for games, Edmund," Susan said, coldly, wishing someone besides her would grow up. "Why did you really call?"

"That's why I called," Edmund said. "Narnia's in trouble."

"I'm really too busy for this sort of thing," Susan cut him off, abruptly. "If all you want to do is talk about your silly world, then I have to go. I love you, Edmund. Tell Peter and Lucy I love them, too."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

"I love you too, Su," Edmund said, at last. "And I'll give Peter and Lu your love. Good-bye, Susan."

As she hung up the phone, Susan couldn't help but wonder at the note of finality in those last words. Then, she shrugged it off, and went back to her studying. A couple hours later, she decided to go out and stretch her legs, maybe get lunch in the park.

One thing led to another, and she soon found herself with a group of friends from school. They coaxed and cajoled, and soon convinced her to go shopping with them. And so it was very late when Susan returned to the apartment.

Karen was already back, sitting in the kitchen eating a sandwich.

"You got a telegram, today," she said, gesturing to the table where they kept their mail.

"I'll look at it later," Susan said. "Wait until you hear about the afternoon I had."

She became so involved with talking about her shopping trip, and then with studying, later, that she forgot all about the telegram sitting on the table. It wasn't until the next morning, when she was making herself breakfast, that she remembered.

_'Might as well look at it now, before I forget it again,'_ she thought.

_**Ms Susan Pevensie, **_

_**This afternoon, at approximately twelve-forty-five, there was a train accident at London Railway. Members of your family were involved-**_

The telegram fell from her nerveless fingers as those words began to play themselves over and over in her mind.

"No," she whispered. "No, it's not possible."

"It's not true!" she screamed, a second later, and Karen came sprinting into the room.

"Susan, what's wrong?" she cried. "Why are you shouting?"

"The telegram," Susan said, unable to do anything more than weep, now.

Karen plucked it from the floor and quickly read it, her face going pale.

"Oh, Su, I'm so sorry," she said.

"I've lost them," Susan whispered, sobbing brokenly. "They're all gone."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Karen asked, finally, at a loss for anything comforting to say.

Susan looked up at her, through red-rimmed, tear stained eyes, and she elaborated.

"They said that you're needed to identify the bodies," she said. "Didn't you read that?"

Wordlessly, Susan snatched the telegram away and scanned the rest of the document. It did, indeed, say that she would be needed to identify her family's bodies before they were released to her And the sooner the better.

"I need to do this alone," Susan said, at last.

"At least let me drive you," Karen insisted.

Susan could only nod, so Karen grabbed both their coats, and steered her out the door.

**Author's Note: I know there's not much action, here, but this was more of an 'establishing Susan' chapter. **


	3. Coping

**Chapter Two: Coping**

"Su, are you all right?"

Susan didn't even bother to look away from the window when she answered Karen's hesitant question.

"I've just lost my entire family," she said, hollowly. "How do you think I feel?"

Karen was silent for a long moment, while she considered how to best reply.

"If you want to talk," she finally offered, "I'm always here."

"I don't want to talk," Susan said. "I just want to see them."

Karen nodded, wordlessly, and the car fell into silence as they continued the drive to the hospital where the accident victims had been taken. But, when they pulled into a parking space, Susan simply sat there, staring out of the window in a dazed manner.

"Su?" Karen asked. "Su, we're here."

"I-I can't go in there," Susan whispered, brokenly, as a tear crept slowly down her cheek.

"You just said-" Karen began.

"If I go in there," Susan continued, without any indication that she'd heard Karen, "it'll mean that they're really dead. If I stay out here-"

"-They'll still be gone," Karen told her, gently. "Come on, Su. I'll be with you the whole time."

Susan nodded, accepting Karen's help out of the car. Then, she walked slowly up to this entrance, feeling terribly old and fragile.

Entering the hospital, they found the waiting room full of people. Some were weeping openly, others were simply staring around them in shock. But all were grieving, there was no doubt about that. Susan drew in a ragged breath, afraid that she would lose her composure in the face of devastation as great as hers.

"Excuse me," Karen said, speaking to a receptionist, "we're here to see Susan Pevensie's family."

"You'll have to wait over there with all the rest," the obviously harried woman snapped. "They're only taking a few back to the morgue at a time."

"Don't know how they expect me to handle this up here all by myself," she muttered, obviously not expecting them to hear her.

"Is a little compassion too much to ask for?" Karen snapped, holding tight to Susan's arm to keep her there, when she would have drifted back into a chair, to avoid a confrontation.

"Probably everyone in this room has lost someone they love in that train crash," Karen continued, furiously. "Some have lost their whole family. The least you could do for them is act like a caring human being!"

The soft sound of clapping drew their attention, and Susan looked up in surprise to see an older woman standing nearby, applauding. All around them, mourners were glaring fiercely at the receptionist. The clapping woman took Susan's other arm, and led the girls over to a couple of chairs.

"I've wanted to do that since I got here," she told them. "That woman shouldn't be allowed to be near people."

"Why didn't you?" Karen asked, even as Susan wondered, "How can you be so calm, with everything that's going on?"

"I find anger keeps me grounded," the woman replied. "And I've been plenty angry since I arrived here," she added, glaring at the now-abashed receptionist.

"I'm Molly McCaan," she introduced herself, a moment later. "I've been waiting two hours to say good-bye to my husband."

"Susan Pevensie," Susan said. "And this is Karen Flanders. We're here to see my family."

"Your whole family," Molly repeated. "Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry."

The words were genuine, and filled with distress and grief, and Susan looked at her in shock, amazed that this woman could comfort another, even in the face of her own awful grief.

"Thank you," she said at last. "I'm sorry about your husband."

"Thank you, dear," Molly said, wiping away the tears that trickled down her cheeks. "He was a marvelous man. I'll miss him terribly."

"Would-" Susan began, unsure of how to continue the sentence.

"Would you tell us about him?" Karen finished for her, understanding her hesitation.

Molly gave them a look of shock, and then, smiling tremulously, began to tell them of the man she'd married. Susan, in turn, told Molly about her family, about her parents and her siblings. They wept together. And Susan found herself giving comfort to a total stranger, even when she felt like she was going to break into a million pieces.

Suddenly, they were interrupted by a nurse calling out Molly's name.

"My turn," Molly said, softly.

"You don't have to be alone for this," Susan said, suddenly, seized by an impulse she couldn't quite name.

"Thank you, dear, but this is something I must do alone," Molly told her.

"Well," Susan continued, digging a piece of paper out of her purse and scribbling her phone number on it, "if you ever want to talk, you can call me at any time."

"Thank you," Molly repeated, as the nurse led her off.

"Do you think she'll call?" Karen asked, as Susan watched Molly disappear down the hallway.

"I hope so," Susan replied.

A short time later, her own name was called, and she stood up, gathering her purse, and her courage, in close.

"You don't have to do this alone," Karen told her. "I could come with you."

Susan nodded, and Karen linked arms with her, as they followed the nurse down the hallway. They wound their way through what seemed like the whole hospital, always going down, until they reached a steel gray door, plain except for the small window in the middle. The nurse unlocked the door, and stood aside so that they could enter.

Susan did so, apprehensively, and found a short, balding man in a lab coat waiting for them.

"Susan Pevensie?" he asked, in a surprisingly musical voice, as he looked at his clipboard.

"That's me," Susan said.

"This way, please," the man said, as he strode off. "Dr. Winters is waiting for you."

He led them over to a tall, dark-haired man standing by a row of steel tables. He smiled kindly as they approached.

"Susan Pevensie?" he asked. At Susan's nod, he continued, "I'm so sorry for your loss."

"I'd like to see my family, now," Susan replied.

"You need to prepare yourself," Dr. Winters warned, cautiously, as he stood by the first table. "This was a gruesome accident, and your family may not look like you expect them to."

"I can handle it," Susan assured him, firmly.

Dr. Winters nodded in understanding and, pulling back the sheet covering the table, revealed Colin Pevensie's solemn visage.

"He looks just like he's sleeping," Susan whispered, gazing at her father, and Karen squeezed her hand, supportively.

"He, your mother, and your sister were inside the train at the time of the crash," Dr. Winters told her. "They were spared most of the injuries that the people on the platform sustained."

"They're still dead, though," Susan said, sadly, as she went to the table holding her mother. "I'll never get to tell them how much I love them."

She went to Lucy and Peter, next, and it was harder to look at them than it had been with her parents. Peter was almost unrecognizable, with the bruises and cuts covering his face and body. The only way Susan could even recognize him was by the distinctive, star-shaped scar on his shoulder.

She remembered how he'd gotten the scar in a sword fight, but shook it off as an overactive imagination. After all, how could Peter have been sword fighting when he'd hardly left London?

Lucy, however, was worse to look at. Not because of her injuries, for she was just as undamaged as their parents, but because of the strange look of eager anticipation on her face.

_'What about a train crash could possibly be so exciting?'_ she thought, but had no time to dwell on it as something hit her.

"Edmund," she said, aloud, turning to face Dr. Winters. "My brother Edmund's not here."

"Edmund Pevensie is in a room up in the Intensive Care Unit," Dr. Winters told her. "I can't explain how it happened, since he was standing on the platform, and was hit directly by the train, but your brother survived."

"I want to see him," Susan said.

The doctor led the way to a small room, and pulled the door open. The curtains separating the room had been drawn, but he pulled them back, and Susan gasped in shock at what she saw. For a second, her vision wavered, and she was no longer in a hospital room in London, but in the middle of a war zone.

_/Edmund lay so still, and for a second, she feared he was already dead. His face was so pale, a stark contrast to the blood that soaked the front of his tabard in alarming quantities. His hands were covered with the same blood, as though he'd tried to hold it in his body. He was so small; how could he stand to lose so much blood/_

Furious at herself for drifting, Susan shook herself into the present. She couldn't let her overactive imagination run away with her, especially now. Ordering herself to focus, she turned back to reality, to her baby brother.

He lay in the bed, deathly still. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and he looked terribly fragile. There were countless bruises and abrasions scoring his face. He was hooked up to half a dozen machines, all of them beeping insistently, measuring one thing or another. But none of that mattered to Susan.

Only one thing mattered.

_He's alive!_


	4. Broken

**Author's Note:** So, it's been over two years since I last updated. And I am so very sorry for that. I promise to have the next chapter up before another two years passes.

**Chapter Three: Broken**

Susan didn't know how long she stood there before Dr. Winters' voice broke into her thoughts.

"Ms. Pevensie, I'm sorry, but I'm being paged to another room. This is Dr. Wyse, he's been following your brother's case, and he can answer any questions you might have."

Dr. Winters gave her an apologetic smile as he slipped from the room, and Susan turned to look at Wyse, who was staring at Edmund with a bored expression on his face.

"If you ask me, I'm amazed that your brother wasn't splattered all over the platform, let alone that he survived at all."

Wiping hot tears from her eyes, Susan shot the doctor a furious glare.

"A little bedside manner goes a long way," she informed the man, icily, and he at least had the good grace to blush in embarrassment.

"Is Edmund ever going to wake up?" she asked, after they had stood in awkward silence for several long moments.

"In the condition that your brother is in," Wyse told her, "I very much doubt it. I'd be surprised if he ever even recovered enough to breathe on his own, without the respirator."

"He's going to stay like this for the rest of his life," Susan stated, flatly.

"The kindest thing," Wyse said, "would be to just let your brother go."

"No!" Susan cried, whirling on the doctor in anger. "I can't – I can't just let Edmund die!"

"Your brother will very likely never recover," Wyse pressed her. "Keeping him like this, in this half state, is both cruel and selfish, not to mention a drain on the resources of the hospital, especially after such a tragedy, when we're already stretched to the absolute limit."

"I don't care about your resources," Susan snarled at the man. "He's my brother. He's the only family I have left."

"He's probably not even aware enough to know that you're here," Wyse told her, insistently. "You're not keeping him alive for his sake, you're keeping him alive for yours."

"I'd like to be alone with my brother, now," Susan said, ignoring the doctor's last comment.

"Ms. Pevensie-"

"Get. Out," Susan growled, not looking away from Edmund's still form. "Please," she added, through gritted teeth, with Wyse simply stood there.

Wyse huffed out a breath. "If you believe in God, Ms. Pevensie, I'd pray to him."

A few seconds later, she heard brisk footsteps on the tile floor, and then a sharp click as the door to the room was closed. Susan let out a shaky breath and dropped, gracelessly, into the hard plastic chair beside Edmund's bed.

"I don't care what that brainless prig says," she said, speaking to Edmund's still form. "I know that you can hear me."

"What were you and Peter doing on the train platform?" she asked, plaintively. "Were you-"

She broke off as tears choked her voice and she took a deep breath to try and compose herself.

"Were you trying to get back to Narnia?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Edmund, that was nothing more than a silly game we invented. You know that. And even if it wasn't-"

She trailed off into silence, again, unwilling to pursue that line of thinking. She didn't want to consider what it would mean if Narnia and Aslan weren't a game, if they, and everything that seemed like little more than a half-remembered dream, were real.

So, she pushed any thoughts of Narnia, and of Aslan, to a far, dark corner of her mind, and she focused on other things. She talked for hours, filling the silence with everything she and her brother had never had time to talk about, over the years. She talked about her fears of not being able to keep up in school, about the boys who came calling around her and Karen's apartment, about anything and everything that came to mind.

She tried to talk about how empty she felt, how sorry she was for not telling Peter and Lucy that she loved them, more, but the words wouldn't come. The pain of losing her family was too soon, too raw, for her to talk about it, and so she left it alone.

She paused only long enough, now and then, to take sips from a glass of water that someone, Dr. Winters, probably, had placed on a table near her elbow. She shifted only slightly in the hard chair as her legs grew stiff from sitting so long; she refused to move if it meant leaving Edmund even for only a few minutes.

She knew, as she was talking, that nurses and doctors came in and out of the room, and they tried to engage her in conversation, but she ignored them. At one point, Karen came to see her, but Susan refused to take her eyes off the figure in the bed. Everyone else was unimportant next to her brother, and they didn't need her attention. Edmund did.

Susan was afraid that if she stopped talking, if she took her attention off Edmund for even a second, then she would lose him. So long as she kept talking, Edmund stayed in the bed, solid, and warm, and alive.

Shadows stretched across the room as the sun set, and Susan caught herself yawning in exhaustion. Blinking hard, she tried to stay awake, but found that she kept nodding off every few minutes. Finally, when she found herself sliding off the chair because she couldn't keep herself upright, she succumbed to the inevitable and, stretching out carefully next to Edmund on the bed, she gently gripped one of her brother's hands in her own and allowed sleep to take her over.

When she opened her eyes a few seconds later, she discovered almost immediately that she was dreaming. After all, there were no snowy woods in London, and certainly none with lampposts in the middle of a clearing. So, when Edmund appeared out of thin air and walked toward her, she shook her head in emphatic denial.

"This isn't real," she informed the apparition. "You're not real. I'm tired, and I'm grieving, and you being here, now, is nothing more than a wishful dream."

"Oh, Su, do you always have to be so practical?" Edmund gave her a gentle smile as he spoke, and Susan felt her heart breaking all over again.

"I'm hallucinating," she insisted, and Edmund shook his head.

"You're only half right, dear sister," he told her. "This is a dream, or, rather, a dream state, but you are very much awake inside of it, and I am no hallucination."

"You're not real," Susan repeated, sharply, dashing away the tears that sprang to her eyes and blinded her vision. "You can't be real."

"And why can't I be real?" Edmund asked, gently.

"Because," Susan choked out, "if you're real, then it means that none of it was ever a game, and I could have gone with you, and I wouldn't have to be alone!"

She broke off, burying her face in her hands as she was overcome with sobs that wracked her body, and she felt Edmund wrap his arms around her in a tight hug.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she cried.

"Do you remember Narnia, Su? And Aslan?" Edmund asked, quietly, and Susan nodded, her face still buried in her brother's shoulder.

"Why did you forget me in the first place, child?" a deep voice asked, and Susan straightened, turning slowly to see Aslan standing, solemnly, by the lamppost.

"You said that I could never come back," Susan told him. "That I was too old. And it hurt so much to think that I could never see you or Narnia, again, that it was easier to just pretend that it had never happened, that it was all just a game.

"I was wrong, Aslan," she continued, softer. "I lost my faith in you, and I'm sorry."

The Lion nodded, accepting her heartfelt apology. "What's done is done," he said, and Susan and Edmund shared a quick, secret, smile, both remembering that first morning in Aslan's camp.

"As for your future," Aslan continued, "when you awake-"

"Wait," Edmund interrupted, the smile falling off his face as he and Susan got identical, panicked looks on their faces. "When she wakes up? Isn't she – can't Susan come with us, Aslan?"

"I am afraid not," Aslan broke the news, gently. "Susan has a life to live, and much to do, before she is to join us. We will journey on alone, once the proper measures have been taken."

"Proper measures," Susan repeated, uneasily. "What do you mean by that, Aslan?"

"I think he means me," Edmund answered, softly, realization dawning on his face. "You have to turn the machines off, Su. You have to let me go."

Susan immediately shook her head.

"No," she said, tears springing, anew, to her eyes. "I can't, Eddy. I can't let you die."

"I'm already gone," Edmund pleaded with her, his own tears making his eyes overly bright.

"I can't," Susan repeated, weakly.

"You have to," Edmund said, firmly, as he wiped at his cheeks. "Besides, it's not forever. You heard Aslan; we'll see each other, soon."

Susan pulled Edmund into a bone-crushing hug, in response.

"Tell Peter, Lucy, and everyone that I love them," she whispered, holding on to her baby brother as hard as she dared.

"I will," Edmund promised, hugging her back just as fiercely. "I love you, Susan."

"And now forget, child," Aslan told her, as the siblings parted, breathing gently on her face. "Forget until you are ready to remember, again."

Susan stumbled backwards as the gust of warm air hit her face, and she felt like she was falling. That was when she woke up.

Susan blinked, sleepily, as she sat up, Edmund's hands still clasped in hers. The wispy remnants of a dream teased her memory, but the harder she tried to remember it, the faster it slipped away. She frowned in disappointment, knowing, somehow, that what she had forgotten was very important.

A soft beeping sound drew her out of her thoughts, and she glanced first at the machines, and then at Edmund, watching as his chest rose and fell as air was pumped into his lungs. She brushed a stray lock of hair away from his face, then looked up at a quiet knock on the door.

Dr. Winters stepped into the room, a chart in his hand.

"I've spoken to Dr. Wyse, at length, regarding his behavior, yesterday," he said, without preamble, ignoring her red eyes and mussed hair in a way that made Susan think that he'd found a lot of patients' families falling asleep in their rooms last night.

"He's been issued an official reprimand, and he's written a formal apology," Dr. Winters continued.

"I don't want his apology," Susan said, firmly. "And I don't want him near my brother."

"He's been assigned to another wing of the hospital," Dr. Winters told her. "But, he did raise an important point, yesterday."

"I'm not letting Edmund go," Susan said, at once, her eyes flashing with anger.

"I didn't mean that," Dr. Winters said. "I just mean that you have an incredibly hard decision to make."

"To kill or not to kill my brother," Susan said, harshly, fear and grief making her short-tempered.

"Susan," Dr. Winters said, gently, "this is your choice. If you say no, if you choose to keep Edmund hooked up to the respirator and the cardiac monitor, I'll go and make the arrangements to have him transferred to a long-term care facility."

"But," he continued, "I have to tell you, his chances of ever coming out of the coma just don't exist. Those machines are the only things keeping him alive."

Susan nodded, and turned to look at Edmund.

Could she do it? Could she go and see her brother every day for the rest of his life, knowing that he would never wake? Knowing that his heart only beat, his chest only rose and fell, because of the machines he was attached to? Knowing that the too-still figure lying in the bed was nothing more than a shell of the vibrant baby brother she'd loved?

As her heart gave her the answer, Susan dropped her head into her hands, weeping.

"Susan?" Dr. Winters prompted, gently.

"Do it," she said, her voice hollow. "Shut the machines off."

She pressed a kiss to Edmund's forehead as tears streamed down her face.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, brokenly. "I love you."

Then, the beeping of the machines ceased; the room was silent. Edmund's heart stopped; his chest fell as his last breath left his body.

He was gone. And she was alone.


End file.
